Latest Stories

Most recently published stories in Psyche.

I Am Not My Diagnosis
Sometimes, us as humans forget that others are humans too. We will see someone with a broken leg, we will say that we are so sorry and hope they are better soon. But when we hear someone has a mental illness, we will say that they are just attention seeking and that they should get over it. Outcasted. For what? That their minds work in a different way?
By C.J. Dalton8 years ago in Psyche
The Friends That Force Me to Live
To most people, the phrase "hole in the wall" means a quaint place to get a decent drink but to me, at 13, it either meant bullets or that I lost my temper again.
By True Danyelle8 years ago in Psyche
The Falling Bridge
To describe my mind is impossible. Even I don’t dare to venture towards my subconscious, yet I know what lies within. It is like being on top of a bridge you know is about to fall, collapse into rubble in the river that flows beneath. Yet my feet stand ground on the stone like an old oak tree’s roots will into the earth. My legs turn into what I can only describe as tall pieces of grass getting caught in a tornado. My heart is as heavy as the anchor that keeps the planet together and earth’s existence. My subconscious making an appearance trying to convince the others to jump for the fun of it.
By C.J. Dalton8 years ago in Psyche
I Am Suicidal
I am suicidal. But I'll be okay, because I have to be. A lot of people who know me really well don't even know this about me. This is because—well, for years now—I've been putting on a happy face, pretending everything's alright. Don't get me wrong, a lot of the time everything is alright, but there are just some days where it would be easier if...
By Kelsey Park8 years ago in Psyche
Smoothie Girl
I don't belong here. I'm sick, not crazy. I squinted into the light as the girl, unknown to me except by her howls, thumped the floor. She rose from the ground, tore every pseudo-inspirational poster off the dank walls and hurled them towards me. "What are you doing here? Cause a pretty little white girl like you sure ain't in here for trying to kill your mama like me." I mumbled something indiscernible as she moved to her next victim. Three white-cloaked men appeared, shot a liquid into her backside, and dragged her away.
By Anna Bloom8 years ago in Psyche
Really Alone
Have you ever been alone? Not just by yourself or single. I mean really alone. Like the type of alone where you are surrounded by people and at the same time you’re scared and in your own head to the point you can’t even hold a conversation without saying something so ridiculous you walk away feeling like the biggest idiot thinking, “why did I say that?" I said that because my brain was thinking about 10 different things at once and I didn’t have the time to stop and think about the conversation being had. My mouth just shot out the first thing that came to mind. At that moment I was thinking about the perfect girl I saw at the mall last week and how if I looked like that maybe that boy would love me or maybe this person would respect me or maybe I would get that job. I was thinking about what I said the night before to that friend that she answered but not in the way I thought she would so now I don’t know if it was taken the wrong way. I was thinking about that boy I’m madly in love with but can’t manage to 100% let people in without lashing out because of deep insecurities I want to fix. And I’m also thinking about how I need to go to the gym but a Big Mac would make me feel a lot better right about now. My mind is never silent, never quiet, never calm. It’s constantly racing, wondering why that person just looked at me like that. And it causes me to think about it for the next 2 hours and get defensive in my own head because they don’t understand, they never will. The truth is, how can they understand? How can I expect anyone to understand what I cannot even begin to understand myself? I can’t, it’s not fair. And here I am, back to feeling like a terrible person. But why should I feel bad about something I’m struggling with trying to fix? I shouldn’t. I want to be happy; I want to be normal. Either one would suffice. It’s like there is a wire electric fence 10 feet high in front of me and I can catch a glimpse of who I used to be, who I want to be. I don’t know how I ended up on this dark side of the fence... I just want to figure out how to get back over, because it’s almost like I start to find a way to climb it and it starts to feel good, like I’m close; I hit a wire and it burns me and I fall back down. I have to start all over, only this time, every time I fall and get burned, people start to see just how damaged I really am. That scares me even more. I want to be happy, I want to be normal. I need to first figure out what caused me to wake up on this side of the fence. Maybe just maybe once I figure out what the underlying problems are; just maybe I’ll be able to break the fence down instead of trying to avoid it. That’s the hard part though, isn’t it? Figuring out what really screwed us up so bad? Which problem, which heartbreak, which comment really did hurt you this bad? After you’ve trained yourself for so long to not let it get to you. Which knife was it that struck through the armour? First I have to find that knife. It’ll take some time, I know it will. But one day, eventually.. I’ll make it to the other side of the fence.
By MCKP8 years ago in Psyche
Pleasing
I have come to the realization that I have been an anchor point for so many people lately, that I haven't been an anchor point for myself. Why did I come to that realization? Because I am beginning to realize that I haven't been taking care of myself the way I wanted or should have been.
By Joy Ergang8 years ago in Psyche
"Miracle" Weight Loss Pitfalls for a Bulimic
An eating disorder is defined as developing an obsessive and unhealthy relationship with food—which often leads to an obsession about weight. Although bulimia is primarily to do with binge eating and purging, weight loss is easily intertwined with these stressful times.
By Nancie Holmes8 years ago in Psyche
A Great Thing Called Misophonia
“Misophonia, literally ‘hatred of sound.’” I am 15-years-old, I’ve had this issue for as long as I have been able to eat. I could blame it on my dad and I wouldn’t be wrong. My dad has misophonia too, not as badly as I do, but he is the best person for spreading it to me — Thanks... Misophonia, for all you animal-like eaters, isn’t just a “get over it” situation. It’s more like “if you tell me to ignore your disgusting moralless habit one more time, I’ll have no other choice except to beat you with your own food.”
By Cat Zukowski8 years ago in Psyche
Little White Pill/Little White Lie
I was 16 when I chose to use drugs as a way to escape my problems. I had a friend who had dropped out of high school and I often visited her on Saturdays. I guess she sensed that I was sad and she offered me a Percocet. I was in pain. My mother had joined an ultra religious cult when I was 5 where women weren’t allowed to be taught and were property of men. There was no asking questions, it was blind devotion I was truly suffering and I couldn’t talk to anyone about what was going on because I was afraid of being labeled a heretic and ostracized. And I did not want to seem uncool in front of my friend who, to me, was the a epitome of cool and so I took one of the horrible white pills. The problem was I didn’t feel anything when I took one Percocet. I just realized that the dull, throbbing pain in my right ankle from a small twist had gone away.
By Maayan Atias-Golbus8 years ago in Psyche
Afraid of the Dark No More
I spent years being afraid of the dark. As a child I felt terrified of the dark but I never knew why. I had conjunctivitis at the age of three and woke up with my eyes glued shut with muck but I already felt afraid of the dark by then. My mother used to think it was because I watched horror movies with my dad (before I was three) but I already felt the fear before then. As I grew and learned I became more and more afraid of the dark until...
By Gabriella Grace8 years ago in Psyche
The Story of A Girl
The radio blared as the salty water ran down her face. She couldn't help it. She just didn't feel herself anymore. She stared at the wall, through the tears, and couldn't help but wonder why she felt like this. She felt blank; not happy, not sad, not mad, not really anything. She just didn't feel at ease anymore. She thought of everyone around her. It was all coming to an end. She thought she was starting to be okay with it all again, but then it all hit her at once. What the fuck does any of this mean? Why the hell can nobody see that she's miserable? The ones who caused it refused to truly see her. She tried to ease the pain by distracting herself. She started drawing and writing, but all she wanted to do was yell — yell until it hurt, yell until she couldn't anymore, yell until she felt numb again, yell until the world around her was silenced and she could be heard again. Yet, she held back. She was afraid that if she let pain out, it would be absorbed by everyone around her. But even if she allowed that, the guilt would eat her alive. She didn’t want to hurt everybody else around her. She just swallowed the pain and got through every day; some better than others, but some just so badly that she was afraid to wake up everyday to discover what kind of day it would be.
By Michelle Schultz8 years ago in Psyche